


Lemme Tell Ya 'Bout This Boy

by AshToSilver



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, First Kiss, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 17:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7115794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshToSilver/pseuds/AshToSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, he loves to fight as much as Jack loves to lose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lemme Tell Ya 'Bout This Boy

**Author's Note:**

> **MyBatsy requested:** _Prompt: young!Bruce/young!Jack (high school age, so about 16 or 17) pining!jack, first kiss, doesn't need to be fluffly. In fact, if they end up kissing after/during a fist fight even better._
> 
> This is a part of my June daily prompts challenge - for the month of June, I will be accepting simple batjokes prompts from people. If you'd like me to write one of your prompts, you can comment below with any ideas you have. There's more info [here](http://alexfics.tumblr.com/post/145111053242/accepting-batjokes-prompts) if you want, and all prompts will be posted on AO3 under this series.

The first time Bruce talks to Jack, he’s getting the shit kicked out of him.

Bruce is younger - only fourteen and the tallest, biggest kid in his grade, but he’s smart in a way that most people don’t ever want to be. He doesn’t really know Jack - Bruce isn’t exactly used to this public-private school that his parents call _social interaction_ and honestly, what’s wrong with testing out of high school and doing a university correspondence course at thirteen? Nothing, that’s what.

Skipping class isn’t the greatest example of respecting authority, but Bruce has been told people should have flaws and he thinks this is good enough.

Anyway, bleachers, kid getting bullied and honestly, here’s another flaw - well, Bruce considers it more of a virtue but he’s been told it isn’t - because the kid screams like nobody’s business and he sort of feels like he has to do something about it.

His fist connects with a grade twelve kid’s jaw and he goes down, his buddy yelling _shit, shit_ in a freaked out tone.

The kid - Jack, a scholarship recipient who came in a semester late and a grade behind - is a year older than Bruce, but he’s still all whipcord muscle and at least three inches shorter.

“The fuck you doin’,” demands Jack, and punches Bruce in thanks.

The thing about people, Bruce thinks, is that they’ve all got an itch, or a scab. Something a bit painful that they want to keep scratching at, even though that makes it hurt all the more. Bruce isn’t too good at the _normal people thing_ and so he ends up skipping class and hitting people in the soccer field because he finished the entire semester’s assignments a week after the first one was handed out. He can’t figure out how to fit into this person suit, so he doesn’t and it _hurts_ , that the other kids hate him for it, but he keeps making it worse and worse because he can’t figure out how to stop either.

Jack - Jack’s itch, his scab, his bleeding wound he can’t resist picking at - is that he’s been hit and punched and knocked down so many times in such a short life that he’s started to love it. So Jack skips class and lets himself get hit in the soccer field because he _wants it_ to hurt.

And the problem with Bruce and Jack, is that when one of them thrives on saving people and the other doesn’t want to be saved, you’re going to run into some complications.

Or alternatively, this;

By fifteen, Bruce has near-permanent bruised knuckles, the blood constantly coming off on his clothes. He’s got a _routine_ too, and the thing is, he loves to fight as much as Jack loves to lose.

So they end up here - late nights and early mornings, scraping before the bell rings. It’s not an agreement, it’s not an arrangement, but nothing gets Bruce’s blood boiling like the sound of Jack’s voice, his laughter, his cruel jokes. He has endless patience for the kids around him, making fun of his awkwardness and his genius, but the minute Jack asks if his mother picked his clothes his morning, Bruce is shoving him headfirst into a locker and straddling his hips as he slams a punch into a mouth wide with shrieks.

A lot of money will buy you a lot of patience, so this mostly ends with a lot of detentions. Bruce is careful too - he always hits first, always makes sure everyone can say he started it, so Jack never loses his scholarship.

(Is that selfishness or kindness? He doesn’t know, but his parents ground him anyway.)

Jack keeps coming back, that wild, needy look in his eyes that makes Bruce want to pin him to a wall, that smirk and the laughter that makes his whole chest squeeze. It has to be hate, he’s never hurt as much as he does when he looks at Jack Napier, second in the class and the closest thing he’s got to a friend.

It’s enough to drive someone to madness.

So this is where they end up as a result - under the bleachers where they first talked, yelled and hit each other. Bruce is sixteen and almost as tall as his father, handsome and strong after years of exercise, fights and boxing classes. Jack is seventeen, a punk if there ever was one with dyed green hair and nail polish chipped and cracked on bloody fingers. There’s grace in the fast lines of his body and Bruce wants nothing more than to brush his fingers into the bruises on Jack’s pale skin. Hear him shriek and groan with the pain.

They start out fighting, of course - a swing here, a right hook there, a punch that splits the skin on Jack’s knuckles and smears the colour across Bruce’s own sun-tanned skin. Everything feels electrified and when Bruce slams him into the dirt, pressing all his considerable weight down on slight hips, he can’t even find the strength in his legs to get back up or the motivation to throw a punch.

“Somethin’ got your tongue?” Jack shivers beneath him, squirming in a way that just makes Bruce’s skin go hot. “Come on, it's no fun if you don’t _hit me_.”

Bruce grabs the collar of his shirt, the collar freckled with brown stains from half-forgotten fights and pulls him up. “Haven’t I ever told you to shut up?”

The boy laughs, laughs like he always does and for a second, there’s something in his eyes Bruce has caught a glimpse of before but has never been able to name. It’s sharper than it’s ever been and more distracting than it should be.

Then Jack swings forward, aiming for a bite or a headbutt and part of Bruce is still stuck on why he wants to just sit here forever, too hot and too close. He registers the movement a half-second before it hits and then Jack slams his forehead against Bruce’s, almost cracking their noses and grabbing Bruce’s lip between his teeth.

His hands come loose and Bruce doesn’t even think before he grabs a fist full of hair and holds on, tasting blood in his mouth as he rips the both of them apart.

Jack’s face is flushed and his eyes bright with that intense look and then Bruce is kissing him.

It hadn’t occurred to him to do so until the feeling hits and then he can’t let go, pressing Jack’s head closer with both hands and sucking the air out of the smaller boy’s lungs. He rocks, clinging desperately and closing his eyes against the taste of blood in both their mouths.

There’s a “nnngh” and then Jack twists, gasping for air with a nose beginning to drip blood and Bruce presses another kiss to his jaw, seeing Jack’s eyes flutter shut in shock.

“Ff-fuck,” hisses the boy, “fuckin- _fuck_ ” and then he’s twisting back and nipping at Bruce’s lip and twisting his hands into Bruce’s hair none-too-gently. “Didn’t-didn’t think you’d _c-catch on,_ Ww-anye- _oh God_ ,” he shrieks again as Bruce sinks his teeth into his shoulder.

“You never tell me anything,” Bruce complains as Jack returns the favor, squirming closer and sucking a bruise into his neck “you want me to know, you gotta tell me.”

Jack draws back, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Is that so?”

Bruce makes a noise he hopes comes across as _yes_ because honestly he knew Jack was hot, he knew everything about the kid made him want to tremble all over but he isn’t sure he can handle too much more of Jack pinned underneath him.

“Weeelll,” Jack drawls, “better get over here and get some instructions.”

And Bruce, for perhaps one of the only times in his life, laughs and does just that.


End file.
